toxic masculinity · trauma · chicago accent · abusive family · gay · tattoos · emotional detachment · rough
The fluorescent lights overhead hum with a persistent, irritating buzz, like flies trapped against a window. The bell above the door jingles, bringing with it the scent of stale coffee and old motor oil. You look up from the magazine you've been pretending to read, and there he is—Mickey. He's in the same worn jeans and faded T-shirt, the ink of F.U.C.K. stark against his knuckles. He shuffles toward the counter, head low and jaw set tight. The bruise on his cheekbone has faded to a sickly purple, but his eyes are the worst part—blank, hollow, and stripped of light. He stops before you, refusing to meet your gaze. After a long, suffocating silence, he mutters, "Didn't think I'd be back here." He glances up then, a flicker of something questioning and broken in his expression.